College Princess
by DeaDellaMorte
Summary: AU. If Mia had been born in Genovia, her life would be different - at least until she started college in New York.
1. A Princess In the City

New York, I thought happily. If the Universe were kind, I'd have been born here, lived here my whole life. I would have lived, I mused, in a loft somewhere in town. I would have gone to a school – perhaps not a public one, but one where the students were still normal – well, as normal as anyone could be in New York. I smiled at the thought. If the Universe were kind, I would never have been born the Princess of Genovia, a principality no one had ever heard of. If the Universe were very, very kind, perhaps I might even have escaped Grandmére. I shook my head as I climbed into a cab; I could never have been born that lucky.

While the driver wound us through the insanity of New York's notoriously horrid traffic, I, Princess Amelia Renaldo, continued my game of make-believe, forcing thoughts of the reality that I had run away from deep into the well of my mind. In my imaginary world, I lived in a loft with my mother, a woman who'd died shortly after my birth. I'd seen pictures of my mother, of course, and she was a very beautiful woman, giving fodder for my dreams.

"The Plaza, miss," the driver said, cutting across I thoughts. I smiled at him and paid my fare. The bellboys were already removing my luggage from the trunk, so I grabbed my Louis Vitton make-up case, my Coach purse and my custom-made laptop case that I'd had commissioned on my last visit to the city, in the company of Grandmére and my father. I had fought so hard to be able to attend university in America, and I was finally here. I'd even managed to convince Columbia to take me without my title.

And I was finally here. Away from my duties, my crown, and most importantly, my fiancé. Oh, the engagement wasn't finalized yet; Prince Rene and my father had been haggling over the details of the engagement for as long as I could remember. I rather hoped, in a very unprincess-like manner, that they'd continue to argue over it until one of them died and the document was never finalized. It wasn't that I didn't want to get married – I did. I just didn't want to marry Rene, international playboy extraordinaire. I shrugged off her negative thoughts and checked myself into the Plaza, where Grandmére had insisted that I stay until the dorms were available.

Grandmére had been pleasantly surprised that the daughter of a wealthy oil sheikh was attending Columbia as well. I wasn't so sure that was a good thing; whoever the girl was, her father was sending her bodyguard with her, which was all the excuse my own father had needed to insist that Lars accompany me. My arguments that having a bodyguard living in the dorms with me would give my identity away were brushed aside. Whoever the other girl was, she was certainly not a princess, and she had to have a bodyguard, therefore I would have mine as well. He did agree, thankfully, to letting me enroll under my mother's maiden name, Thermopolis. It would take intuitive investigating for any of my classmates to discover that Amelia Thermoplois was really Her Royal Highness Princess Amelia Renaldo of Genovia.

Within half an hour, I was settled into my suite at the Plaza and ready to venture into the city. My crisp linen suit was more than appropriate for a shopping expedition, I decided. I armed myself with my black American Express card and slipped my silver locket around my neck. The locket had been my mother's and held pictures of my parents – and a GPS chip. Lars would know where I was at every moment of every day. A small sensor had been placed in the back, sensitive to pressure, and I knew just how hard I had to grasp the locket to let Lars know that I was in trouble. I picked up the receiver to ask the desk clerk to summon a limo and walked calmly, confidently towards the elevator.

I lost track of how many stores I'd been into when I passed Stella McCartney, longingly eyeing a fabulously fashionable dress in the shop's window. Grandmére had never approved of modern designers, insisting that Chanel was more appropriate for a princess. I looked down at my own clothing with a sigh. The linen suit was reflected in the window, a shadowy, indistinct image overlaying the shimmering silk of the dress, proving that in addition to having bad hair (thanks to Grandmére's insistence that I wear it in the same style she had worn as a young princess – something which my hair refused to do), being obscenely tall (at five feet ten inches, I am certainly no pixie) and having depressingly small breasts, I was also the most unfashionable eighteen-year-old virgin in the world. I lowered my head, more than a little depressed, and climbed into my limo, instructing the driver to return to the Plaza.

I didn't venture from my rooms again until it was time to move into the dorm. I waited a few days, wanting to make certain that everyone else would be moved in already before I did. It would be easier to judge the lay of the land and get a feel for how well I could keep my secret if those nearest me were already settled, I reasoned, not completely willing to admit that I was reluctant to give up the suite and the amenities that came with it for dorm life.

When I arrived in my dorm room, I was somewhat taken aback. The daughter of the oil sheikh wasn't there, but it was clear that she'd already taken her half of the room and made it her own. The cinderblock walls were covered in silk hangings of vibrant pink with vague Middle Eastern designs on them. The bookcase was lined with double-rows of romance novels, and a pink laptop graced the desk. Her small closet was stuffed almost to overflowing with the kinds of clothes Grandmére had never allowed me to purchase, and her bed was piled with pillows of gold and green to complement the bedspread she'd covered her mattress with.

I was suddenly glad I'd managed to get one of the larger, eight student suites. Lars and my roommate's bodyguard would be sharing one of the rooms, giving at least the illusion of privacy, and each room had its own bathroom so none of the girls would be forced to share with two men who probably spent their spare time studying various ways to disassemble their weaponry. There was also a common living area and a small kitchenette with a sink and refridgerator. All in all, I decided, it could be worse. I could be forced to share this tiny room and the adjoining bathroom with Lars for the next four years. Living with the pink-loving oil heiress could only be an improvement. I wondered about the other girls as I unpacked; what their rooms were decorated like and how they felt about having to share a dorm with two bodyguards, but I couldn't help but feel the difference in my side of the room versus my roommate's.

My bedding was white, like my bedding at home. The pillows and spread were down-filled luxury covered in the highest thread-count Grandmére could find, and my own laptop was boringly silver. The books I'd chosen to bring with me, besides text books, were classics that Grandmére had forced me to read as a young girl; mostly Jane Austen and Charlotte Bronte, with Plato's Republic and Machiavelli's The Prince thrown in for good measure. There was a knock on my door, startling me out of my glum thoughts.

"Hey!" the voice was brash, loud and impatient. "Look, I don't mean to burst in on you," she continued through the door, "but Lana's in our bathroom doing her hair and I really, really need to pee! Could I please use your bathroom?"

I opened the door and smiled what Grandmére had termed the Princess Smile, one that welcomed any guest with grace and charm. Apparently, this short girl with the pierced eyebrow wasn't impressed by the Princess Smile, for she knocked me out of the way and dashed into the bathroom. I stood in the doorway to my room, wondering what I should say to this bizarre creature when the toilet in the other room flushed and the petite brunette reappeared, a large smile of relief spreading across her face.

"Thanks so much!" she said pleasantly enough. "Are you Amelia?"

"I am – but you can call me Mia," I answered. I'd decided, in my planning stages of this deception, that I would be known by a nickname, making it that much harder to connect me with my royal self.

"I'm Lilly," the stranger said, leaning up against the pink bed. "Lana's my roommate and possibly the worst person in the world to share a bathroom with, as you might have guessed." I couldn't help but laugh at this. "I've known her my whole life, sadly, so there was no escaping her."

"I heard that!" someone called from the still-open door, and I looked up to see a blonde girl standing with her arms crossed over her ample chest. "Maybe if you spent more time on your hair, it wouldn't look so freakish." Lilly just rolled her eyes.

"Lana, Mia. Mia, Lana," she said, pointing at us as she made the introductions. "Mia's going to be Tina's roommate." I nodded and tried out the Princess Smile on Lana, but she just rolled her eyes.

"Better you than me," she snorted. I raised an eyebrow at Lilly, an unspoken question.

"Oh, Tina's alright," she hastened to assure me. "It's just that she lives in this place we kind of call Tinaland, where the world is rosy, and love waits around every corner." Their eyes met and they rolled them simultaneously, leaving me to feel very left out. Of six girls in this dorm, three of them already knew each other, and I was terrified that the other two would have been friends with them from childhood as well, leaving me as the only outsider.

"Tina was supposed to room with Ling Su, but she decided on NYU at the last minute and since you and Tina both have bodyguards, the administration asked us if we'd mind sharing with you, too," Lilly explained. That settled it, I was definitely the only outsider.

"We're pretty used to putting up with the bodyguard thing – Tina had to have one all through school because her dad is totally paranoid that she's going to be kidnapped," Lana explained, clearly bored with the subject already. "Why do you have one?"

"My dad is in European politics," I hedged, one of the answers that I'd already prepared. "While he's not really known over here, he's always afraid that someone's going to kill me or something for some law he got passed." It wasn't entirely a lie. My father, being the Crown Prince of Genovia, Iwas/I heavily involved in politics, and not just in Genovia. And he had pushed through some laws, especially to keep Genovia as beautiful as it had always been, that had some developers and French builders pretty ticked off at him.

"Well that explains the accent," Lilly said. "French, right?"

"Well, yes, Genovia borders France," I explained. "And French is our national language, though nearly everyone speaks English, too."

"Oh!" Lana exclaimed, looking interested for the first time since she walked into my room. "We're spending Fall Break at Mia's! French guys are so hot." Lilly just rolled her eyes.

"You don't even speak French, twit," she said.

"Yeah, but remember foreign exchange student our freshman year?" she sighed dreamily. "He was French, and he was hot."

"Yes, yes, Rene was hot, but he wasn't French – wasn't he from Monaco?" Lilly put in, and my heart nearly stopped. Rene, my almost-fiance, had attended one semester of school in New York for his senior year. Surely they had to be talking about another Rene. They couldn't be talking about my Rene, could they?

"Whatev," Lana said, tossing her blonde hair with a practiced flick of her wrist. "He was totally hot."

"Yes, and he had to leave half-way through the year because the Press found out that he was a prince, or something, and his family whisked him back to Monaco before he could ruin his engagement," Lilly reminded her with a long-suffering sigh.

"If that finacee of his ever found out what he did with me, she'd leave him in a hot minute," Lana giggled. Oh. My. God. They were talking about my Rene. And he'd cheated on me with Lana.

A princess never loses control of her temper, I reminded myself. Sure, I didn't want to marry Rene, but I certainly didn't appreciate him sleeping with a blonde goddess while we were supposed to be almost-engaged, either! I suddenly wondered how much his family's decision to remove him from that school had to do with the Press finding out about his royal status, and how much of it had to do with the girl leaning so casually against my roommate's bed. I decided right then that even if she was one of the prettiest American girls I'd ever seen that wasn't a celebrity, I really, really didn't like Lana Whatever-Her-Name-Was. And that I was definitely calling my father as soon as they left this room and telling him that he could stop negotiating the engagement because I was never, ever going to marry Rene now. In fact, I just might send Lars back to Genovia to assassinate him. Monaco had other princes; one less wouldn't make much difference.

In my fury, I neglected to notice that Lana had stepped over to my closet, where my suits and simple, elegant clothes were already hanging, and flicking through them with a look of absolute disgust on her face.

"Look, Mia," she said abruptly, bringing my attention to her actions. "I don't know what French girls wear to school over there, but if you dress like this here, you're never going to get laid." I swear, my jaw nearly hit the ground. "Lilly, we have got to help her." Lilly eyed the contents of my closet a bit warily, then she subjected me to the same treatment, starting at my Chanel pumps and ending at my horrid, yield-sign-shaped hair. She gave me a small, sad nod.

"She's right," she said on a sigh. "We can't let you go to class looking like that."

Lana eyed me critically for several long moments. "Hair first, I think," she said decisively. "Then clothes and shoes. Who dresses you, your grandmother?" she snorted. How could I answer that? Yes, in fact my grandmother does dress me and has since I was born? I didn't think that would go over so well.

"Look, Mia," Lilly said, clearly making an attempt at diplomacy, one which, while poorly executed, I appreciated all the same. "We're not trying to hurt your feelings. And I know that Genovia is a very conservative nation. If your father is in politics, you've probably had to dress this way most of your life. But you're in New York now, and as much as I hate to say it, Lana is right. You will never fit in here if you wear skirt suits and pumps."

"Paolo's?" Lana suggested, and Lilly nodded.

"I'll send a text to Tina to let her know to meet us there," Lilly said. "Go get your bodyguard."

What else could I do but walk down the hall and tap on Lars' door? "Lars, apparently we're going shopping," I said with a hint of resignation in my voice. He looked at me, and then over my shoulder, to where Lana and Lilly were standing in the hall waiting.

"Wear your locket and take the limo," he said, making it clear that I was on my own.

"Traitor," I muttered quietly, but he just shut the door in my face. Sometimes, I really think that Lars forgets his place.

So that's how I ended up in this bizarrely silver salon with a combat-boot-wearing girl with an eyebrow piercing and the Barbie that had slept with my almost-fiance. Paolo himself came out to greet us, giving cheek kisses to Lana and eyeing Lilly's hair askance before he turned his attention to me. I would have laughed at the way his mouth gaped open at my hair if it weren't so depressing.

"Cherie," he said quietly, circling me slowly and lifting strands of my hair, "who did this to you? Paolo would like to murder the wretch who destroyed you this way!" He began muttering in French, most of which I tried not to hear, as the thought of him stringing Grandmére up and subjecting her to Madame Guillotine was far too amusing.

"Sit, sit," he commanded, pushing me down into a silver chair and wrapping a silver cape around my neck. "Paolo, he will make you beautiful again, Cherie."

While Paolo attacked my hair, one of his army of assistants went to work on my feet. They brushed, polished, buffed and I swear I smelled hair dye. Lana was having her roots touched up in the chair next to mine, and Lilly was having her nails painted – black? Lana caught my eye and gave me a smile.

"Hi!" said a pretty girl with dark, creamy skin and beautiful black hair as she sat in the chair next to me. "Just a trim," she added to the waiting assistant, who smiled and began to wet her hair. Snip, went Paolo's scissors. Swish, went my hair as it fluttered to the floor. It became a soothing rhythm after a few minutes, snip, swish, snip, swish, snip, swish. I resolutely ignored thoughts of what Grandmére was going to say about my new hair cut, and prayed that my father hadn't put a limit on my black Amex.

"I'm Tina Hakim-Baba," the girl said with a smile, her eyes meeting mine in the large mirror before us.

"My roommate?" I asked curiously. While she certainly had the face of a pink-loving oil princess, she was a trifle on the plump side, carrying perhaps twenty extra pounds. Grandmére would call it poor breeding, but as I tried to imagine her without it, it suddenly struck me that this girl wouldn't be nearly as pretty without the softly curving figure. Her face would be too angular, her hands too fragile-looking.

"That's me," she confirmed. "I got Lilly's text and came straight over. Boris wasn't really happy about it, but I can't spend every moment at his apartment, no matter what he thinks." She rolled her eyes at her reflection. Snip, swish. I glanced down at her left hand, and sure enough, there was a beautiful emerald ring. But why an emerald, I couldn't help but wonder.

"Boris?" I asked, truly curious.

"Boris Pelkowski," she clarified. "My boyfriend." I noticed that she didn't say fiancé, so perhaps that emerald was a gift from her father or something and she just didn't know enough to not wear it on her ring finger that way. Or perhaps there was something else behind the emerald. Maybe she had a fiancé back in her native land and Boris was just her boyfriend here in New York. I'll admit that I normally don't have those kinds of thoughts about people I just met, but finding out that Lana and Rene had been sleeping together behind my back was obviously messing with my circuitry. Enough that it took a few minutes for me to recognize the name.

Boris Pelkowski was a pretty good-looking violinist that Grandmére had forced me to listen to on multiple occasions. I'm not much for violin music, really, but he was really good. I could see why people were saying that he was the next Joshua Bell. In a bit of curiosity one afternoon, I'd actually Googled him. There had been a lot of information about his skills as a violinist, but there had been one site that seemed to belong to a rock band called Skinner Box. I thought it was a pretty clever name, actually, but when Grandmére had caught me listening to the music one day, she'd taken away my DSL for a month. And the pink-loving oil princess was dating him?

"Boris Pelkowski?" I had to clarify. "The violinist?" Tina smiled in delight that I knew who he was. You could tell, just from that smile, that it wasn't his ability to play the violin, or the money he obviously made from it, or even the fame that he was slowly gaining – she adored him. I hoped whoever had given her the emerald knew that.

"I dated him first," Lilly put in quickly, clearly determined to make sure that I knew this. "He dropped a globe on his head when I dumped him!"

"A globe?" I could feel my eyes widen. "What kind of person drops a globe on his head?"

"Boris," three voices answered in unison.

"There was blood everywhere," Lilly continued.

"He only did it because you dumped him for that hot busboy at my birthday party, and you were livid when Tina started dating him," Lana reminded her. Once again, I felt a sense of unease. If these three were anything to go by, I was in for a really long semester. They had shared history, shared memories, and I was just the freak-ish daughter of a Genovian politician (in their minds, at least) that got put into their room because of her bodyguard.

"Hey!" Lilly interrupted her. "I felt bad for Boris, but I was totally in love with that busboy." Lana snorted. Tina just sighed.

"Can we please not rehash this again?" she asked in a tone of voice that told me that she had done this on many occasions. "Boris loved Lilly, Lilly dumped Boris, Boris and I started dating, Lilly started seeing JP before she found out he was a sleeze and then started dating Kenneth and Lana…" she trailed off.

"Lana sleeps with anything that moves," Lilly finished her sentence.

"Why should I limit myself to just one guy the way you two losers have?" Lana said with an evil little smile. "I've got a lot of love to share and I like to spread it around."

"You spread something, but I'm not sure it's love," Lilly tossed out at her. Lana just rolled her eyes and turned back to her mirror. Tina offered me what looked like an apologetic smile in the mirror. I made a note to talk to her later, when we weren't in the presence of these other girls; she seemed to be the most normal – well, aside from the bizarre love of all things pink that our room evidenced.

"Paolo is finished!" the man behind me declared triumphantly, causing three pairs of eyes to turn towards me. I was looking tentatively into the mirror at my new hair. "Paolo relaxed your hair – it not stick out like that now. No more perms, Cherie, Paolo insists." I was eyeing it critically. He'd not only removed the perm that Grandmére had insisted on me having since I was just a little girl, he'd also changed the color from dishwater to blonde to just blonde, and given me a cut that reminded me strongly of Charlize Theron's in that movie The Italian Job. It looked – good. Better than good. It looked fabulous. I smiled. Tina and Lana squealed in delight and Lilly nodded.

"Much better," she said. "Now to get rid of that suit." I handed Paolo my black Amex, but he just looked at it funny.

"Paolo will not take payment for this, Cherie, so long as you promise Paolo that you will never let anyone else touch your hair," he said. I nodded fervently – I wasn't going to let anyone else near this hair. Paolo was a genius, clearly.

The four of us, and someone that Tina called Wahim (who was apparently her bodyguard) piled into the limo and Lana told the driver where to go. By the time we returned to the dorm, I'd spent more than I probably should have and my closet was so full that I had to box up my most of the things I'd brought with me and ship them back to Genovia – I made Lars do that as punishment for not joining me on my shopping trip. I now owned jeans, short skirts that made my legs look endless, tiny tops and expensive luxury lingerie. And shoes. Lots and lots of shoes.

All I can say is thank goodness that my nineteenth birthday is coming up in a few months and I'll get my annual replenishment of my allowance. I know the bills of the black Amex come out of that account, though one of the palace's accountants usually takes care of it. Which reminded me. I'd actually have to do that myself. My father had put many conditions on me 'living the life of a normal college student' – one of which was that I'd have to manage my own money and send off my own bills. In one of the drawers of my desk was my new checkbook. I had a Visa debit card in my wallet and a login for online banking, whatever that was. I should probably try to figure that out pretty quickly.

When we got back to the dorm, our other roommates where there, so I got to meet Shameeka and Perin. Lars and Wahim retreated into their room, no doubt to talk about the advantages of hollow-point bullets in hunting or something like that. What do bodyguards discuss with each other – their clients? I wondered if there was some kind of bodyguard-client confidentiality clause. Lars couldn't tell Wahim, for example, that I was a princess – could he?


	2. Serendipity

I'd spent the entire evening having what could only be called a pajama party in the living room of the dorm with Tina. Lana had a date, Lilly had gone to visit her brother ("He's totally hot, and rich," Tina had confided to me when she left) and Perin and Shameeka had gone to a poetry reading at a local coffeehouse, leaving the two freaks with bodyguards at home. Tina had discovered Enchanted on one of the cable channels and convinced me that we should bring our pillows and blankets into the living room to watch it. So we did.

Tina turned out to be deeply romantic, which wasn't so surprising, given the number of romance novels in her bookcase, and by the time the waltz scene of the movie (my absolute favorite part) came on, we were so giddy from popcorn and soda that we ended up dancing around the living room with one another. It was nice to feel like I had a friend here. After the movie was over, we went back to our room and I convinced her to tell me about the others.

Lilly was the daughter of psychiatrists and had one older brother, as previously mentioned, who had spent two years in Japan creating something called the CardioArm. Even though Columbia had offered him an honorary degree, he'd chosen to return to school and earn it like everyone else. He'd let Boris, Tina's boyfriend, move in with him because he'd waited too long to find a dorm at school, so he wasn't just really goodlooking (and rich, as Tina reminded me) he was really nice, too. Lilly had been dating Kenneth for about two years, but he was going to Yale now, and they weren't sure how they were going to do the long-distance relationship, so if she came off harsh to ignore her.

Lana was the oldest daughter of a doctor and an interior designer (and when Tina told me her last name, I nearly cringed - Lana's mother had decorated the apartment that Rene owned in New York, which probably explained how Lana knew him anyway). She'd apparently lost her virginity their freshman year of high school and had a reputation for sleeping around. She wasn't the sweetest person in the world, but they were used to her biting remarks and she really just meant them as jokes, even if no one took them that way. I refused to mention my own reasons for disliking her, especially since it seemed so silly. I mean, why should I hate the girl that had slept with the man I didn't want to marry anyway?

Perin was a lesbian (which honestly didn't surprise me) and was dating Ling Su, the girl that was supposed to have roomed with Tina. Her parents were divorced and her father was a world-famous actor who refused to have anything to do with her besides send her mother money to make sure that they lived in comfort and luxury. Shameeka was the daughter of a really strict man who had clearly had his hands full with his daughter from the time she grew breasts (might I just add that my breasts are by far the smallest in this dorm).

It was well after three before we finally went to sleep, and Lilly came banging on the door again, begging to let in to pee, at seven am. Seriously, someone needed to tell Lana that she did not have exclusive rights to their bathroom, because I could tell that this would be getting old quickly. Classes started the next day, and I knew that I didn't want to have Lilly waking me up every morning when I didn't have a class until eleven. I'd always wanted to be able to sleep in, and now was finally my chance, and I'd be damned if I'd let Lilly ruin this for me. After promising Lars that I wouldn't leave the dorm (and having Tina make Wahim promise that he wouldn't either, to guard the both of us), he finally agreed to go out and get a copy of our room key made for Lilly.

"Don't knock," I told her when I handed it to her. "Don't even speak. Just come in, do your business and then leave without waking me up." She looked at me kind of oddly for a second and then nodded, putting the key on her ring with her others. I just went back into my room and went back to sleep.

When I finally managed to drag myself out of bed it was nearly one in the afternoon and there were a few books I'd wanted to grab at the library before it closed, so I took a quick shower and put on some of my new clothes. They girls were right; I did look awesome in those jeans. I slung my purse over my shoulder and let Lars know where I was going, pointing to the locket around my neck to let him know that I was covered.

After a little bit of searching, I managed to find the library and locate the books that I wanted. I had three of them and was reaching for the fourth when it happened. My hand was on the spine, towards the bottom, and suddenly there was another hand on the spine near the top. I think the sudden appearance of another hand startled us both, because we both jumped back and spun to face one another.

How do I describe him? He was tall, and coming from a girl who is nearly six feet herself, that is saying a lot. I knew that if I were to take a few steps closer, my head could rest perfectly on his shoulder. And what a shoulder it was, too. Broad, well-muscled, but not bulgy or over-done. He obviously worked out, but not too much of a good thing. He had dark, dark hair that fell kind of floppily into his eyes – deep, dark brown eyes. There was a ghost of a smile on his lips, and I felt my own twitch up in response.

"I need that book," I blurted out, feeling a blush rise up on my cheeks as I said it. He just cocked an eyebrow at me. "I've got this class tomorrow and we're supposed to have finished this book and – well, I kind of procrastinated and now I have to read it today to be ready for the class."

"I see," he said. "Well, I kind of need to read it by tomorrow as well, and this is the last copy the library has."

It was a stalemate. I could have gone out to a store and bought the book, of course, but here was this incredibly cute guy challenging me over which of us got to get the last copy the library had. Didn't he know that I was a princess and he should just do the gentlemanly thing and let me take it? Well, no, of course not, because I'd wanted to go to school where no one knew that I was a princess. We both reached for it again.

"I have a solution," he said, looking at our hands firmly gripping the spine. "Why don't I check the book out and we'll go to the coffee shop and read it together?" I raised an eyebrow at him. Was he flirting with me?

"Look, I'm not some creepy stalker or anything like that," he joked. "You don't even have to tell me your name. We'll go to the coffee shop, we'll share the book and we'll go our separate ways. I won't ask for your phone number or your dorm room." I had to laugh.

"It's a deal, but you can't tell me your name either," I said, playing along with the game. He smiled at me, a disarmingly cute smile – a little boy's smile. It was so unexpected that I just couldn't respond.

"Fine, then you go wait outside for me so I can check this out without you catching my name." I nodded and walked towards the door. "Oh, hey Princess," he called and I spun.

"What did you say?" My heart was pounding, beating so hard I could feel it all the way down to my toes. He was stringing me along – he knew who I was!

"Well, I have to call you something," he said, looking at me oddly. "Princess seemed safer than babe, or sexy. Besides, doesn't every girl want to be a princess?"If he only knew…

"I think I'll take babe," I muttered.

"Fine," he laughed. "Then, don't even think about running away, babe, or all bets are off. I'll find your dorm and haunt you until you come read with me." I think he thought I was laughing at him. I was really laughing at the idea of what Lars would do to him if he tried; I couldn't help it. The instant he said the words, my mind conjured up a picture of this adorable guy being led down the hallway at gunpoint by Lars and possibly Wahim, with Lana and Lilly watching on delightedly and Tina being appalled. It was a pretty funny picture.

"What do I call you?" I asked between giggles.

"I've always wanted to be called Hot Stuff," he joked, and I knew in that instant that no matter what his real name might be, I would forever think of him as Hot Stuff.

"You got it, Hot Stuff," I said. "I'll be waiting outside." As I walked out of the library, I couldn't help but ask myself just what I thought I was doing. I mean, for all I knew, he could be some kind of nutjob that habitually picked up women at the library. I shook my head; for whatever reason – maybe it was the kindness in his deep, brown eyes – I just couldn't picture him doing this. It seemed totally out of character for him. Which was insane, really, since I didn't even know him. Still, he seemed sane enough, and I did have my locket with me; I was pretty sure I was safe.

"Ready, babe?" he asked, coming up behind me with the book in his hand. I nodded and we set off, across the campus to the coffee shop, where I insisted on ordering for both of us. We settled into a secluded booth at the back and opened the book.

"I'm a fast reader," he warned, "so if I try to turn the page before you're ready, just slap my hand or something."

"Same here," I said. He opened the book and we both began to read. Almost instantly I could tell that it wasn't going to work unless we got closer – really, really closer. So I scooted across the seat until I was practically in his lap and turned back to the page.

We passed about an hour in comfortable silence. It turned out that we read at pretty much the same pace and for some reason that pleased me. About then, he excused himself to go to the men's room and I took the opportunity to do the same. I called Lars to let him know where I was (just in case) and to let him know that I'd be a bit longer and then returned to the table.

Hot Stuff was already waiting for me, this time with two more coffees and a selection of baked goods. I thanked him and we settled back down to read. We finished the book in just under three hours. I suddenly realized that I didn't want our time together to end. Perhaps I wasn't ready to tell him my name, or my dorm number, but I didn't want him to just vanish into the night like some kind of figment of my imagination.

"Well, we've finished," he said, and I didn't want to get my hopes up but it sounded like he was as reluctant as I was to part ways. "Do you like to ice skate?" I nodded eagerly. It was one of my favorite things to do.

"I think I'll go to Rockefeller Center the first weekend it's open and see how the ice feels," he said, almost as though to himself. I calculated quickly; that would be three weeks. He was giving me three weeks to think about whether I wanted to see him again – and if I did I knew that there would be no more 'Babe' and 'Hot Stuff'. I would have to tell him my name, and he would tell me his. If I went, anonymity was over. As much as I wanted to see him again, I had to appreciate this gesture. I nodded my agreement, too scared to speak, because if I spoke, I might just tell him my name right now and get it over with. And while that might be the sensible, logical thing to do, a large part of me was really enjoying the whole adventure of it. It was something so incredibly un-princess-like that I couldn't resist. I'd come to America, to Columbia, to try new things, and experience new relationships – and I had a feeling that whatever it was between us, it would definitely be an experience.

"I'll give you fifteen minutes to get away from here," he said. "After that, I'm coming outside and if you're still there, I'm following you home." I laughed again at the image of what Lars would do to anyone that followed me home like that and waved good-bye.

"I'm already gone, Hot Stuff," I said over my shoulder as I walked away.

When I got back to the dorm, Tina and Lilly were waiting for me. "Where have you been?" Tina asked. "Lars wouldn't tell us a thing – just that you were going to the library."

"I did," I said. I knew I was smiling hugely; I couldn't help it. I wanted to stop.

"You met a guy!" Tina exclaimed. Lilly just smirked. I laughed. And then I nodded. How could I possibly deny it? "Oh, my god! You did!"

"I did!" I squealed, letting Tina's excitement overtake me. She grabbed me by my arms and pulled me into a hopping, circular dance around the living room while Lilly watched on, amused. Not for long, though. On our next pass, she grabbed Lilly and swung her into our circle, forcing her to dance with us or be trampled. She danced. When Tina had exhausted the three of us, we collapsed into the sofa, feet kicked out in front of us, gasping for air.

"What's his name?" Lilly demanded. "Any guy worth dancing around for has to have a name."

"Hot Stuff," I said solemnly. They both stared. I told them the story. They were still staring. "Okay, I know it sounds insane. But it was – fate. Serendipity. Kismet. I met a gorgeous stranger in the library and he actually liked me."

"Well why couldn't you two go on a date like normal people?" Lilly demanded. "What if he doesn't show up? What then? Who is Lars going to beat up then?"

"Lars would never beat up a guy just for standing me up," I told her firmly.

"Besides, why would he stand her up?" Tina asked. "I think it's romantic. Perfect strangers meet at the library and exchange no personal information, fall madly in love and end up getting married!" My eyes widened. I was starting to see what Lilly and Lana had meant by 'Tinaland'. It must be a very, very pink place.

"I don't know about marriage or love, but I do know that he was the most interesting guy I've met in – well – ever," I said, trying to stem the flow of her romantic notions. "And I'll definitely be going to Rockefeller Center in three weeks. Hopefully, he'll show up. If he doesn't – well, no biggie, right?" They both eyed me dubiously for a minute. Then Lilly nodded, and Tina followed suit. I could see they didn't want to argue – well, they did, but they wouldn't. And I appreciated it. Perhaps I was making a mistake, and perhaps I wasn't.

I can honestly say that Hot Stuff wasn't on my mind every secondof the next three weeks. Just like every other freshman there, I had classes and homework. I also read a few of Tina's books – which weren't half bad, honestly. And if I sometimes pictured Hot Stuff and the new, Lana-and-Lilly-ized Amelia during some of the steamier scenes, who was to know. I did call my father and let him know that I was not going to marry Rene, to which he replied that I couldn't cal off the engagement for something that happened four years ago, before the contract was forged. He assured me that I would marry Rene unless I could come up with a better plan.

So, no, I didn't spend the entirety of the next three weeks thinking about Hot Stuff – but I did think about him whenever I had a moment to myself. I was definitely helped in that by the 'help' Lana, Lilly and Tina offered (non-stop) about what I should wear when I saw him again. In three weeks, I grew to love my roommates – even Lana. After all, it wasn't her fault that she'd slept with my fiancé. She didn't know me, and she wasn't bound to any kind of loyalty to me. Regardless of what some might say about Lana, she wouldn't do that to me now. In fact, if I were to just come out and admit that I was engaged (well, almost) to Rene, she'd apologize immediately. That's just the kind of person she is.

When I was completely ready (___Cavalieri_ jeans, a Stella McCartney halter that actually made me look like I had breasts and my Manolos – and my hair touched up, courtesy of Paolo) on that Saturday, I joined the others in the living room. Tina and Boris were going to come to watch over me, so she and I were waiting for Boris to arrive. Lilly was whining that her 'stupid' brother had gone back to Japan for six months.

"What was the point of trying to get his degree like a normal person when he's running a business?" she demanded. Everyone shrugged. We'd all heard this line of reason before. Her brother had left the weekend before (and I'd been at the library – damn! I missed seeing the cute rich boy in our little group!) and Lilly had been complaining non-stop about it. Well, his leaving and that Kenneth was bothering her about getting her brother to hire him. Tina and I just rolled our eyes. Three weeks had given me all the time I needed to feel like I belonged in this dorm – in that other life, the one where the Universe hadn't hated me, I would have been friends with Lilly and Tina and Lana long before this. I just knew it.

The doorbell rang and Wahim and Lars briefly fought over which of them would answer the door – Lars won. It's become kind of a contest between them to see which is the better bodyguard, and Tina and I are completely biased over which wins. It was Boris, of course. He and Tina were going to take his car to Rockefeller center while I had to take the limo. Tina figured Hot Stuff would be more likely not to run like a startled fawn (whatever that meant) if I didn't arrive with an entourage like I didn't trust him. And that was one of the other thoughts that I'd had over the past three weeks, too; that in that other life, Hot Stuff and I had known one another for a long, long time and we might have even had feelings for each other. I could be wrong, though. In that other life, I was fairly certain I was a writer, though all I could manage was a few words before growing bored. I was, however, fairly decent with charcoals. Drawing was a passion of mine, and while I'd never have genius, I had a little talent that I enjoyed using to draw landscapes and sometimes portraits.

As we drove away from the university, my palms went sweaty. I was going to meet Hot Stuff. He would tell me his name and I would tell him mine and we'd see if that one day of incredible chemistry could be sustained once the fantasy wore off and reality set in. I wiped my hands on one of the smaller bar towels in the limo and prayed to every deity I could think of that this went well.


	3. Outed

I stood on the edge of the rink for an hour, at least, before it finally dawned on me that he might not show up. By two hours, I had to wonder if he'd ever planned to. I couldn't bear Tina's sympathetic looks or Boris' murderous ones. Even Lars began to fidget. Six hours later, when they finally kicked us out, I was in tears. Boris was driving back to his apartment and Tina was consoling me in the limo, rubbing my back in small circles as she cursed 'Hot Stuff'.

"When we get back to our dorm, Mia, you're going to draw the son of a bitch for us and if we see him, we'll kick him in the head for you. And Lars will beat him up, and so will Wahim – right?" She demanded. The both nodded.

"Thanks Tina, but it's okay." I sniffled. Princesses are ugly when they cry, Grandmere had always told me. "Obviously, he met someone who wasn't a flat-chested giant and chose to spend his weekend with her instead."

"But Mia! You said it was fate!" she reminded me. I shrugged. Thank goodness for the French in my blood – at least I know I can shrug elegantly, as only the French can.

"If it were really fate, wouldn't fate have made sure that he showed up today?" I asked. She nodded slowly and started rambling about one of her romance novels, where a woman had been left at the alter three times by three different men, only to find that her dream guy was the wallpaper hanger at her friend's house. I tuned her out. I didn't think my dream guy was going to be a wallpaper hanger – after all, what in heaven's name would Grandmere have to say about that? But I let her continue on about how my new love would be just around the corner and that Hot Stuff was obviously Not Stuff. I'd learned to understand a bit about Tinaland in the past three weeks, and I'd learned that it was best to let her live in it whenever possible. The realities of the world were just too harsh for our Tina, and there were days when I really wished I could just join her in Tinaland.

So I let her talk about my new love the whole way back to Columbia and never told her that I had, about two days after meeting him, drawn Hot Stuff, while he was still fresh in my memory. Nor did I tell her that I sometimes pulled that drawing out when I was alone in our room to go a bit drooly over his soft eyes and quirky, little boy smile. Or that I sometimes took a deep breath in the hopes that I'd catch the faint whiff of soap and male skin that had seemed to envelop him, a scent I found oddly soothing; one that made me want to bury my nose in his neck and breathe him in for hours.

When we returned to the dorms, Lilly and Lana took one look at me and immediately pulled out the Ben and Jerry's, saying that if ever anyone deserved an entire pint to themselves (something they considered the height of selfishness when not in dire circumstances) it was me. Lana threatened him with nothing short of castration, but Lilly, oddly enough, was silent.

"Mia, I know you drew this guy – go get it," she ordered. It was funny, but even though Lilly was the smallest person in our dorm, when she said to do something, we all did it. She was a tiny little despot. I just shook my head, though.

"Not tonight, Lilly," I whispered. "I don't even want to be reminded of his face right now." I stood to go to the bathroom, and when I came out, Lilly was standing in my room, holding Hot Stuff's picture with a peculiar look on her face. I snatched it from her hands and shredded it, throwing the pieces into the garbage. "I said no, Lilly." My voice was deadly calm. She stared at me for a long moment and then nodded, once.

"Okay, Mia," she said. "I'm sorry." It was the first time I'd heard her apologize for anything. We rejoined the others in the living room, where Tina and Lana were still discussing what they'd do to him if they ever got their hands on him. It was Lilly who spoke up.

"Maybe he had a good reason for not being there," she said softly, and we all turned to stare at her. Of all of them, Lilly was the one I thought would be the most homicidal over this, but she was defending him. The world had surely turned over on its axis. "Just hear me out, okay?" she said, holding up her hands in a gesture for patience. I waited.

"Maybe he had a family emergency," she continued. "Obviously, he couldn't contact Mia because he didn't know her name. He could be sitting next to his mother's hospital bed right now, cursing the fates that tore him from Mia."

"If it were really fate," Tina – romantic, soft-hearted Tina, cut in, "then he would have been there. No matter what." Lana, for perhaps the third time since they'd known each other, nodded in agreement.

"Lilly, I appreciate you trying to rationalize this," I whispered. "But it's okay. Really," I added, seeing that none of them believed me. "Yes, he was cute, and funny and sweet and – you get the idea. But it wasn't meant to be. And after I have a good cry, I'll be okay with it."

The rest of the evening just kind of petered out from there. Eventually we all made our way to our bedrooms. I heard Lilly through the paper thin walls, talking to someone, but the words were muffled and indistinct, and Lana was out on a date. Tina offered to let me read one of her romances before bed, but she understood that a romance wasn't exactly what I was in the mood for right then and left it, and me, alone after that.

I had strange, troubled dreams that night, and I woke up once to what I thought was paper rustling around, but I fell back asleep almost immediately. In a way, Tina was right. A few weeks later, I met a really nice guy named Felix and we spent three pleasant months together. Tina played me Boris' band's new song, Tall Drink of Water, recorded right before their lead singer left for Japan. Lilly continued to defend Hot Stuff whenever one of the other girls brought it up, much to their disgust. I stopped thinking so much about the guy I'd met one random day at the library and was even able to read Flaubert again without bursting into tears. Tina called it recovery. Lana said it was about time. Lilly wondered what a guy was doing reading Flaubert in the first place. Perin and Shameeka never seemed to be around, and I was okay with that, for it was about a month after The Night that I started to wonder if maybe more was going on behind their dorm door than any of us knew.

It was the day that Felix and I split up that everything began to unravel. I wouldn't attribute it all to that event until much later, but that day started a chain reaction of events that would lead me irrevocably towards the one person I'd been destined to meet since I set foot on American soil. If Felix and I hadn't broken up, I would have been with him on that Thursday, some two weeks later, hanging out in his dorm watching Bones instead of out with Lilly at a little noodle restaurant near her parents' house. I would never have looked up and seen Iher/I.

She stood there, a tall woman with angular features that still somehow managed to be pretty. She was alone, dressed in paint-stained overalls with long, curling dishwater blond hair down her back. I recognized her instantly. Unfortunately, it was right at that moment that a voice shouted "Princess Amelia!" and I turned out of instinct, just as a flash went off, catching my mouth hanging inelegantly open with a bite of food half-way towards my lips. The woman spun and grey eyes met mine for a brief heartbeat before she turned and ran from the restaurant, leaving me alone with a slack-jawed Lilly and a very happy paparazzi.

I reached up and clasped my locket, activating the built-in sensor, grabbed Lilly by the arm and ducked under the camera, running towards the waiting limo.

"Well, it took them long enough," Lilly muttered. I stared at her, my eyes huge. She laughed, a little sarcastically, of course, but not meanly. "Oh, Mia," she said. "I've known since the first week."

"You have?" I squeaked.

"Of course. It wasn't that difficult. Your father being in politics was a little bit of a clue, I'll admit, but I watched your face when Lana started talking about Rene," she continued. "So I did some digging and found out that you and Rene have been unofficially engaged since you were children."

"Does anyone else know?" I managed around my shock. She shook her head.

"No, but after this, it'll be all over the rags tomorrow – you'd better tell them tonight," she advised me, and I had to agree with her. I'd tell the other girls – right after I called my father and told him that the gig – as they say – was up. And asked him what my mother was doing in paint-stained overalls in a noodle restaurant in New York City when she was supposed to have been dead these past eighteen years.

Tina and Lana took the news relatively well. Lana even apologized about Rene, unsurprisingly. Tina just asked a lot of questions about what it was like to be a princess and things like that. My father didn't answer when I called him – he was probably off with the latest in his string of beautiful, disposable women, so I left him a very non-threatening message about the paparazzi that found me, leaving out all details about having seen my mother, and asked him to please call me back.

Once I actually started looking for her, it wasn't hard to find my mother. Helen Thermopolis was in the New York phone book under the T's, and it was with no little fear that I instructed my driver to take me to the address listed next to her number. I would wait outside all night if I had to, but I would meet her. If I couldn't get answers from my father, I would get answers from her.

She answered on the first bell.

"Phillipe warned me that you were coming to New York to go to school," she said without preamble. "I knew then that this day would come, and you'd be on my doorstep, demanding answers, Amelia." I gaped at her. "I'll make us some tea and we'll sit down in the living room." She stepped aside and made room for me to pass her. Her kitchen was – cluttered. She didn't say anything as she made the tea and carried it into the living room. It wasn't until we were both seated, on opposite sides of the long sofa, that she began to tell me her story.

"I wasn't planning on having a baby," she started out. I winced. "But I loved you from the minute you were born. I know that's probably hard to believe, given the circumstances, but if you'll just give me a chance, I might be able to answer some of your questions." I didn't trust myself to speak, so I just nodded in her direction.

"Your father went to college at NYU, the same as I did. We were young, and stupid, and he'd been told by the royal physicians that he wouldn't be able to have children, so it seemed safe to be stupid then." She took a deep breath. "When I found out I was pregnant, I was so scared to tell your father. I knew he was a prince, and I knew that I wasn't cut out for life in the palace. Clarisse, your grandmother, agreed with me. But she also said that her heir would not be illegitimate. We struck up a bargain – a contract. If I married your father and had you, she would finance my art career, so long as I left as soon as I was cleared to travel. At the time, it seemed like a dream come true. I didn't want to be the Princess of Genovia. I just wanted to paint. So I signed her contract."

"You gave me away?" I asked, feeling my heart crack. It was like she was dying all over again in my mind. The woman I'd built up in my fantasies was nothing like this pragmatic creature in front of me, however similar they might have looked.

"I did," she admitted. "I hadn't been home a month before I realized I'd made a mistake. I begged to be allowed to see you, but Clarisse threw the contract up in my face and reminded me that I was banished from Genovia. If I stopped my 'nonsense', she would see to it that I received pictures of you and updates on your life, but if I ever tried to contact you she would have me extradited to Genovia by the UN and left to rot in prison."

"What about Dad?" I asked, hating Grandmere as I had never done before. "Are you still married?"

"Yes, we are – legally I am the Princess of Genovia, but that contract gives me no rights at all. I'm a banished Princess," she said quietly. For a brief moment, I wondered what Tina would think of that phrase, 'banished Princess', but I brushed the irreverent thought aside as I processed the rest of her story.

"I have to go," I said stupidly, knowing that I couldn't do this in her presence. I needed to get away from her to think. She just nodded sadly and asked if I would come back another time. I think I shrugged as I blindly stumbled towards the door and back into the limo.

My phone rang before I got back to the dorm. It was my father, wanting to know how I wanted to handle being 'outed' with the local media. I didn't answer.

"I just left my mother's house," I said instead. The line got very, very quiet. He cleared his throat a few times before speaking again.

"I think you should come home, Amelia," he said. "We can deal with all of this better from the palace. And where is Lars?"

"I'm not coming back to Genovia, your highness." My voice was cold, formal. "I'd rather deal with the American paparazzi than look at you and Clarisse after you've lied to me all this time."


	4. Fate Intervenes

**AN:** Oh, wow, it's been so long since I've updated, but the recent reviews reminded me that I hadn't updated in ages. I know this chapter is exceptionally short compared to my others, but think of it as a transition. I promise to update more frequently in future. Hope you like it.

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I made the trip back to my dorms with my phone on silent and in the bottom of my purse. Lily was waiting for me in my room, and when I looked at her curiously, she held up the key I'd given her weeks before with a raised eyebrow. I shrugged and walked over to my closet, hanging up my coat and wondering how to tell her what had happened. I needn't have worried.

"So, how's your mother?" Lily asked, not sarcastically or harshly, but directly nonetheless.

"You knew?" I asked, feeling a strong sense of déjà vu.

"Helen Thermopolis is pretty well known and my parents are big fans of her artwork. And if you do some good digging, it's not hard to find out that she is the Princess of Genovia though she hasn't lived in the country in nearly 20 years. She doesn't use her title, though – pretty much keeps to herself. There was a rumor a while back that she was getting married, some algebra teacher or something, but nothing came of it." Lily recited the facts about my mother as though she were some kind of stranger – oh, wait, that's right, she _was_. I stared at her incredulously for a few minutes and then smiled.

"Anything else you want to tell me about my family?" I asked her, a teasing note in my voice. Her smile faded.

"It isn't about your family, Mia – it's about mine. Something was bugging me for a long time, but when I remembered you'd never been in my room, it started to make sense." I stared at her, confused for a few moments while she reached for something on my nightstand, something I belatedly realized was a picture frame, one she must have brought with her. She held it up and my breath caught in my chest. Everything I'd been through just kind of vanished.

Lily was in the picture, and a black clad arm was resting across her shoulders. The person next to her was smiling, an achingly familiar smile, leaning towards her and the similarties in their facial structures suddenly struck me and I felt like an idiot for not recognizing it before. She took a deep breath and spoke again.

"Mia, this is my brother, Michael."

Of course. All the signs that I'd missed before suddenly hit me. The way Lily had, to everyone's surprise, defended him when he didn't show up at Rockefeller Center that night. The drawing she'd been determined to see. The sound of her voice coming softly through the walls that night, though she was alone in her room – she'd been on the phone with her brother. Michael, her brother – my Hot Stuff. Before I could respond, my door opened and Lars was standing in the doorway. One look at his face and Lily put the picture down and nodded mutely, skirting around him and out of the room.

"I am to escort you to the airport, Your Highness," he said bluntly. "We are boarding the Royal jet and returning to Genovia at once. Your things will be packed by a member of the Ambassor's office and shipped home to you."

"I'm not going home, Lars, so you can stop talking now," I said stubbornly.

"Princess, I have been ordered to bring you home immediately. If you resist, I have been given authority to use whatever means necessary to get you on the plane," he winced a little as he said this, and I knew that he didn't want to have to hurt me to get me to go with him, but the simple fact was that I didn't want to go.

His tone changed, became kinder and more gentle. I knew that Lars looked upon me as much his own child as my father did, perhaps even more, since Lars was the one that actually accompanied me on my various outings over the years of my childhood and youth. "Princess, please. I know you do not wish to return home, and given what little your father has relayed to me, I fully understand your reasons. But in addition to what has happened this past week here, circumstances at home have made it impossible for you to remain in America. The Dowager Princess is very unwell and your nation needs to see that the line of succession is secure. You have certain responsibilities to your people that you cannot ignore, no matter how angry you might be with your family."

Grandmere was unwell? What kind of hogwash was this? Grandmere was never well, she was a hypochondriac, for the love of Pete! One look at Lars' face and I knew that I had no choice, regardless of my personal wishes. He would kidnap me to put me on that plane if he had to, because he had his orders. I didn't want to put him, or myself, in that position.

"Let me gather a few things and say good-bye to the girls?" I asked, by way of compromise. He nodded.

"I will be waiting by the front door." It was his way of warning me not to try to sneak past him and escape, but as that hadn't been my intention, I ignored it and moved around the room, thinking of how little of my current belongings could be taken home. My new clothes were out of the question. Grandmere would have kittens if I wore any of them at home, but perhaps I could find some use for them. I hated to just throw them out. I pulled my trunks from under my bed and began stuffing the clothes into them.

"Lars says you're going home," Lily said from the doorway and I didn't look up as I nodded. "I should have said something sooner."

"It's alright, Lily," I answered. "There's nothing to be done about it now. But I am inviting you and the girls to come to Genovia for the Spring holidays. I'll have the jet sent for you. Tina and Lana will love it. Boris and Kenneth and whatever Lana's flavor of the month is then can come, too," I rambled, changing the subject as quickly as possible, refusing to look at her until her prolonged silence tore my eyes from the trunk.

She was – crying?

I jumped up and ran towards her, wrapping my arms around her comfortingly. "Oh, Lily, please don't cry! If I could put you in one of my trunks and take you home with me I would!"

"I'm small," she protested, "I could fit!" We both started laughing.

"It's only two weeks until the spring break, Lily. I promise to send the jet for you, at the very least. The other girls can go wherever they like." I laughed.

"Oh, like Lana's going to miss a chance to stay in a real palace?" Lily asked sarcastically. "I'll help you pack," she said after a long moment. When my clothes were safely packed in my trunks we turned our attention to the rest of my room, filling up my third trunk with books and shoes and my suitcases with accessories, make-up and the like. Finally my laptop was safely packed in its bag and my last-minute items were put away. It seemed so final; there was my entire college career in three trunks, two suitcases, one Louis Vitton make-up case, one Coach purse, and one pink custom laptop bag.

The other girls were in class and Tina was with Boris – Lily promised to give them my love and to make sure they knew that they were invited to the palace for spring break. Lars had called in back up, apparently, the paparazzi had found me at school and were swarming the lobby and the lawn around my dorm building. Some of the back up came into my room to carry my luggage to the waiting limo. With a final goodbye and hug for Lily, the rest surrounded me and escorted me down the elevator and towards the car. The instant we got to the lobby, flashbulbs went off and reporters began firing questions my way, but protected by the bodyguard wall, I could easily ignore them and get into the waiting car.

An hour later, safely ensconced on the royal jet, I looked out the window as the runway disappeared beneath us and sighed. If the Universe were kind, I reminded myself, I would have been born in New York. I would have lived with my mother and never known that I was the Princess of Genovia. I would have known Lily and her brother and Tina and Lana since childhood and we'd have all been friends. A single tear drifted down my cheek as I closed my eyes and wondered what awaited me back at the palace.


	5. Altered Reality

When I stepped off the jet, the first thing I noticed was how clean the air was. It was amazing that I hadn't realized how much I missed the fresh air in Genovia until it was I was breathing it in again. I allowed a small smile to break across my face, but it fell quickly. My father was waiting outside of the limo.

"Amelia," he said stiffly as I walked towards him, a slight bow of his head the only sign of affection I knew I would get from him. His eyes widened. "What are you wearing?"

In defiance for being forced home, I hadn't bothered to put on the one suit I'd kept in the dorm for such things. Instead I was wearing the lowest of my low-slung jeans and the snuggest of my slithery tops. Of course that meant that the entire Genovian Press Corps was there to witness my arrival as well. I could already see the headlines: Princess or Party Girl? I groaned internally, but put on the Princess Smile and waved as gracefully as I could to the assembled members of the Press before getting into the limo with my father, the Great Betrayer.

"I told you that I'm not speaking to either of you, so dragging me home in chains wasn't really necessary. I'm still not going to do more than is absolutely required of me by my position," I told him stiffly once he'd joined me and the doors were safely closed. No sense in giving the gossips anything to speculate on.

"Spare me your teenage angst, Amelia," he said scathingly. I raised a perfectly manicured eyebrow (thanks, Lana!) at him. "We're on our way to the palace. Your grandmother is on life support and she isn't expected to make it."

I sat in stunned silence after he delivered his speech. Grandmère on life support? I simply couldn't imagine it. A short while later, I didn't have to, because the reality was staring me in the face. The formidable woman who ruled my life since before my birth was lying still in her state bed, the heavy velvet curtains drawn back to accommodate the plastic tent that now covered it. I'd watched enough television to know that she was in an oxygen-rich environment, and that she was actually, really and truly, dying. The machines were beeping softly and all of the wires and tubes sticking out of her made her look unnatural – like a sci-fi version of herself.

I knew it wasn't supposed to be like this. In movies, grandparents always gave their grandchildren some kind of wise words before slipping peacefully into death, usually right after they healed old family wounds. It was clear that wouldn't be happening here. "Diabetic coma," my father's voice said, as though coming from a long, long way away. "She had too much to drink, and she was bleeding internally. She went into shock yesterday, and today – this."

"She's really not waking up, is she?" I asked, and I was afraid of how young I sounded.

"No, she isn't, Amelia. She could linger on for weeks, or months in this state, but the doctors tell me that the only thing keeping her blood pressure up is the medication the machines are pumping into her – and even that is going to stop working eventually. I brought you home not to punish you, but because you're the one she gave her legal rights to, in case something like this happened. I might be the Crown Prince, but as far as her living will goes, I'm powerless," he said it with an almost wry smile, and I knew then that he wasn't lying. Only I could make that decision, to ease her suffering or prolong her life – what life she had, anyway. It was no decision.

"Grandmère would hate to have anyone see her this way, even us," I said, ashamed of the tears I could hear in my voice. She would have chastised me for them. I could hear her voice in my head, even now. 'Amelia, what in heaven's name do you mean by these waterworks? A princess never cries in front of others! A princess never cries at all, if she can help it! And for God's sake if you must cry, can you at least make sure to do it over something worthwhile so that you look good in front of the cameras? Though I must say, crying is like sex – if done right, it's never pretty.' I smiled, inappropriate I knew, but I couldn't help it.

"Tell me what I have to do," I said, looking up at my father and realizing for the first time that he looked – _old_. The next hour was spent in a blur of paperwork as I signed away my grandmother's life. When I was done, the doctors and nurses slowly disconnected the machines and removed the oxygen tent. My father and I joined hands and sat on her bed, holding her hand and waiting. It didn't take long. She drew four breaths, each more labored than the last, and then a fifth, which rasped and rattled in her chest. And then she exhaled, and she was gone.

"She never got her water," my father said suddenly, and I looked at him confused. "Earlier – before she went unconscious. She was asking for a glass of water, but the doctors wouldn't let her have one. They kept saying 'later'. She never got it."

The idea that Grandmère had died was difficult enough. That she had died thirsty was too much for me to take. I broke. Realistically, I knew that she couldn't feel it, and that by the time she had passed, she was beyond thirst, but it was still the most tragic thing I'd ever heard in my life. We stood there, not touching, my father and I, while they read the death rites over her body, until the doctors ushered us out of the room to prepare her for her funeral. A funeral that, as Princess of Genovia, and the only hostess the palace now had, I realized I would have to plan myself.

"In the morning," I muttered, desperate for some rest and solitude. I waved awkwardly to my father, and thought for a brief moment that this tragedy should bring us closer, but I knew it wouldn't. I left him standing alone in the hallway outside her room and made my way down towards my own.

For the next three days, I was consumed with planning the State Funeral of the Dowager Princess of Genovia, and I had little time to think of anything else. When other realities intruded, I shunted them to the side, where I could take them out and carefully examine them later, when I had time for them. On the fourth day, I put on her favorite of my black Chanel suits with a black mourning hat and joined my father in the limo that would follow the hearse. My grandmother's funeral was well-attended by dignitaries and royals of the world as well as her own people. It was precisely what she would have wished. I made a speech at her service, as was expected of me, and when it came time, I placed the traditional rose on her casket. She was entombed in the family vault in the palace's chapel after the service.

Two days later, I finally sat down and opened my laptop, connected to my email account and composed a brief email to my friends, letting them know that while I would normally not be such a terrible correspondent, and how I would usually never rescind an invitation, given that my grandmother had just passed, I felt it in poor taste to host guests in the palace for Spring Break. I gave my former roommates my love, but didn't give them any other information, and signed out of my account without reading my messages. I knew Lily, at least, would have been following the situation, and she would know what Grandmère's death meant. I didn't want her sympathy or her outrage, either of which was a likely response.

I was the Princess of Genovia. My duty was to Genovia and her people. Unless my father remarried or acquired a suitable consort to run the palace for him, I wouldn't be able to return to Columbia. As I faced the reality for the first time, all of the tears from the past week that I'd held back broke free, and I sobbed unrestrainedly.

* * *

A/N: Yes, it's an actual update. I know, you've died of the shock. I know it's inexcusably short. I really just wanted to get Clarisse's passing over with and make it a chapter on its own, but it was REALLY hard to write this part. I've been through that experience and it was difficult to put down the feelings watching someone you love, even if you weren't close, suffer that way. Anyway, never fear. If you really think Lily's just going to sit back and take a 'Hey, sorry, but can't really deal with all this right now, will write again soon' kind of email - you don't know Lily. :D


	6. Michael

I slipped into my role as Princess of Genovia smoothly; I had, after all, been training for it my entire life. Grandmere had prepared me for this and I was as ready as I could be at my young age. While I didn't have the maturity that I would no doubt gain in later years, I did have knowledge of the entire system at my fingertips. Grandmere's assistant had agreed to stay on until I could find my own. In truth, the woman had wanted to continue on in her role as royal assistant until she herself passed, no doubt, but I was ready to pension her off in the first two hours. Everyone has a limit.

After the first day, the months I'd spent in America seemed like a dream from someone else's life, the life I imagined I'd have had if the Universe had been very, very kind. If my pillowcases were damp in the mornings, no one was ill-trained enough to mention it when they were laundered that day. I'm sure they assumed that I was merely grieving my grandmother.

My father and I saw little of one another except during afternoon sessions of Parliament; we didn't even dine together. I was still angry with him, and I was determined to punish him for what I saw as the great injustice that he'd done to me.

By the end of my first week in Genovia, the routine was set, and my days were exhausting. I played hostess to the dignitaries that were visiting the palace and did charitable works on the mornings that I had nothing else planned. In the afternoons, I sat in on Parliament and attended to issues of State when it was in session or, if it was not, played hostess again or did more charity work. In the evenings, if I were lucky enough, I could dine alone, but often I was forced to sit through endless formal dinners with visiting politicians and their spouses.

I deliberately did not check my email. I did not want the sympathy of my friends in New York, nor did I have the answers to their inevitable questions. I knew that Lily, at least, would understand exactly what Grandmere's death meant, but unfortunately, I didn't have the courage to face her reaction to it. Later, I promised myself.

It was, then, with some surprise that I was sitting on a rare morning with Grandmere's assistant, Tatiana, having tea and going over my (surprisingly light) schedule for the day, when Lars came into the room. He usually stood outside the door during these times, allowing me a modicum of privacy while I lounged in my dressing gown and sipped tea with the woman who managed my (usually) formidable schedule.

"Princess, you have unannounced guests for the next week," he said, as though it were his job, and not Tatiana's to do these things. "The housekeeper has taken the liberty of putting them in the family wing."

Tatiana and I both raised eyebrows at this. To put guests in the family wing was practically unheard of. Unless Rene was visiting (and if he was, boy was he ever getting a piece of my mind!) there was no one else I could think of who would deserve the 'honor' of being put in the same wing as myself and my father.

"Proper precautions were made," Lars said, as though that explained everything. "Your guests are freshening up and will meet you in the Green Salon in twenty minutes." He paused, looked me over for a moment and then the smallest hint of a smile crept across his stoic face. "I would – dress casually, Your Highness, but with an eye to impress."

Tatiana shooed him from the room then and rang for a maid to take away the tea. We speculated as to who the guests could be as we sifted through my wardrobe. It was such a warm day that I overran the older woman's protests and finally selected a pretty, casual sundress instead of a suit.

"Lars said casual," I reminded her.

"That," the woman said, scandalized and pointing at the dress, "is not casual, it is an outrage. Our guests will be insulted and flee the palace at once!"

"Madam Tatiana, these guests are on familiar enough terms with the Renaldo family to be housed in the family wing," I reminded her. "Surely a degree of informality is acceptable. Now if I may excuse myself, I don't wish to be late." I didn't give the woman a chance to protest – I've learned that is the best way to handle her – and I left the room. She was surely shocked down to her bones, muttering under her breath about the honor of the House of Renaldo as I left. I stifled my laughter as Lars dropped into step behind me.

"So who is it?" I asked.

"I'm not to tell you, Princess," he said, a smile twitching on his lips.

"Don't I pay you to tell me these things?" I asked him, a little insulted that he was keeping someone else's secrets.

"But it's much more entertaining this way," he admitted, the smile finally breaking free.

The Green Salon was bathed in sunlight, and when I entered, it was full of people. A quick headcount told me that there were seven in the room, all engrossed with the view of the rose gardens from the magnificent floor-to-ceiling windows the far wall offered. Then I started taking in details. Like that one of them was short – really short – and kind of pudgy, with dark hair, leaning into the tall, lanky man next to her. Both were dressed in jeans and tennis shoes, something I was almost certain the palace had never seen before. Beside them was another pair, this one of a man with a sweater tucked into his pants (I'm not even joking) and a petite, sweetly curvaceous figure with beautiful hair holding hands. The third was a tall, long-legged blonde sucking face with – Rene. Of course – it had to be Rene. I wasn't even surprised. I almost laughed out loud at that, but standing off to the side, as my heart started to swell with love for all of them, that they'd come, even though I'd told them not to, they'd still come – there was someone else.

He was apart from the others. His hands were in his pockets and he was leaning casually against the window frame. He hadn't looked up as I'd entered, but he did now, and he just stood there, staring at me. He didn't smile, and I couldn't make my lungs work, let alone my lips, because it was him and he was here and suddenly everything was wonderful and awful and perfect and miserable all at once and there he was!

Michael.

Suddenly Lily looked over at her brother and saw that he wasn't looking out at the roses anymore, and she turned and saw me standing there. She screamed my name and ran at me, barreling into me and if there had been any breath in my lungs she'd have knocked it out of me, but there wasn't – there wasn't. Because there he was. And he was still staring at me.

And even though Lily was asking me a million questions I couldn't answer her because I still couldn't breathe and I couldn't even look at her because all I could do was stare at him.

Michael.

* * *

**A/N:** Who gets the award for the worst author in the world? THIS CHICK! *fist bump* At least it hasn't been totally abandoned? Just VERY sporadically updated? Something about being slammed with homework makes me want to write. I call it - procrastination syndrome. Here's your next chapter. I have no idea when the next one will be up, but I will get to it.


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